Of Noxus
by CelestialReckoning
Summary: Humiliated and abandoned by the powers she once revered, a distrustful Soraka has forayed into the mortal world to seek work and a new life beyond the stars. But, when she is assigned to a Noxian executioner, her goodwill and better judgement is challenged as she begins to identify with who she once thought was the enemy. [( Soraka/Draven slow-burn romance. Eventual smut. )]
1. prologue

_. prologue_

( **AN:** _Cover art by Chewiebaka. This is my first time attempting to write a multi-chapter fanfic, for a couple that I have difficulty finding much of anything for! I hope you like it as much as I've poured my heart and soul into it! This fic will be interspersed with some personal headcanons and Valoran worldbuilding. Enjoy!_ )

* * *

A celestial had no business in a place like this.

Scorned by the stars and fallen from grace, Soraka was a pariah even among the mortal-world she once fought so fervently to protect. Mortal pains and desires drove the sometimes-spirit from her glade, and with it, claimed her softer elements.

Suspicion and misgiving seemed to claim her very being. Soraka was powerful, yes, but she was also horribly, horribly _alone_. The scar below the curve of her ribs served as cold reminder to her newfound vulnerability.

And with the current situation she found herself in, that was grossly apparent.

Two guards flanked Soraka on either side, sandwiching the tall albeit spindly woman between them. The hallway stretched on long enough to make her vision swim, hoofsteps uneven and echoing mockingly against the sullied tile.

Being susceptible to hunger and exposure, Soraka needed to ply the natural nakedness of mortals in exchange for coin. The scald of starfire was vivid in her mind, and therefore, she'd taken great pains to educate herself in natural remedies and first-aid. Confident in her abilities, Soraka had drifted from town-to-town across Valoran and its outlying land-masses alike.

The Demacians took special affection to her. The yordles of Bandle City greeted the like-minded spirit with open arms.

And then there were the Noxians.

 _Noxus._ Ionian by not only choice but by temper, Soraka should have been far, far away from the presence of the jailers. But, coin was coin, and part of her reasoned that the conditions of innocents gave her reason to pause the staying of her hand. She lived to heal and protect; who was Soraka to deny them salvation?

But her employers were not innocents. These were the people that had slaughtered her kind, raided and pillaged their villages and taken countless scores of lives in their wake. Even as she walked, her constitution shook, knees threatening to buckle under the weight of the world on her shoulders.

They came to an office.

The guard on her right shouldered the wrought door aside, with his peer assuring that Soraka shuffled in, however wary she may've been.

A man stood, situated behind a desk and leaning heavily against what appeared to be a crutch. Soraka bent her head to steal a better look, but his weathered face belied no weakness. Those harsh eyes met hers, and Soraka dropped her gaze. It was obvious who was in charge of this situation.

"This is the healer."

It was a statement, not a question. "Bring her to me."

Soraka was elbowed forwards, her posture submissive and above all, obedient. If he pitied her, there was no change in disposition, as the man continued to speak as if the celestial was no more than a common footsoldier.

"I _would_ extend my welcome, but it appears as if your guardians have already done an _impeccable_ job at giving you a fair Noxian greeting. I am Jericho Swain, Grand General of Noxus. We corresponded about an opportune application for your..." He pauses, letting the words roll behind his lips.

" _talents_ … Let's get to the point, shall we? You are to speak when spoken to. I expect you to perform your job dutifully, with or without magic. I truly do not care as long as I receive results. You are to keep any and all political conflicts _squarely_ to yourself." Swain's voice levels itself, and there is a long pause before he breaches the silence once more.

"You are to be assigned to our executioner. Let me firmly state that you are not the first, and you certainly will not be the last. I wholeheartedly expect your full cooperation with him where others have failed. Understood?"

There was a numb nod from the celestial, her head low whilst the guards on either side of her fought the urge to steal glances with each other. Even they knew not to test Swain's patience.

There was the thud of heavy footsteps. A jeering voice down the hall, the sound of a massive door being pushed aside effortlessly. And a pause. Soraka dared not turn her head, fearful of anything that vaguely resembled disobedience to Swain. The remaining guards were ushered out with a nod of the grizzled general's head, but the voice that speaks is not his.

"Is this really it?"

The voice was confident, controlled. Soraka steeled herself, an imperceptibly small part of the celestial daring to hope that she wasn't stuck with some ruffian. The general before her rose his mighty head, eyes narrowing. The crow on his shoulder uttered a caw, its wings ruffling as it managed to hop to his opposite shoulder.

"Draven. This is your charge. I expect your _full_ cooperation with _this_ one. Is that understood?"

Soraka could practically hear the smirk in the executioner's voice. "Yeah, yeah. Would you ever expect less from Draven? C'mon, sweetheart. Look upon perfection, I'll wait."

Her heart seized up in apprehension, a sense of dread broiling in the pit of Soraka's stomach. The man's cockiness careened her into a state of unease, and she had no idea what to expect even as she turned with hooves of lead. Raising her head uneasily, Soraka's stare locked onto her newfound companion's.

Draven was the perfect picture of a Noxian, tall and muscled with wild hair and a wilder persona. All this was gathered from a glance, smirk plastered against his lips and axes sheathed against his back; ever-dangerous, ever-threatening. Soraka's mouth felt dry. Her mind swam. Who's to say he wouldn't turn his weapons on her for his own amusement?

" _Man_ , I'm good. Keep on staring. Think you can handle being with Draven?"

Draven's head bows, trying to sneak a better look at the shorter woman. That grin of his threatened to shatter his face in two. Against the searing of his gaze, Soraka finds it within herself to speak.

"I think you will find myself perfectly capable to assist you," She starts, voice flat and expression deadpan. "I was called here to keep _you_ from harm. Not the other way around."

The silence following is palpable, though Draven takes the pause to raise his head and affix the most illegible expression to his countenance. Behind her, Swain is inert, viewing the exchange with his ever-watchful eye. Draven broke the quiet, as he normally does, she would learn.

"Heh… Try to keep up with the Dray, sweetheart."

There is the sound of a throat clearing, rousing the attentions of both Noxian and Ionian to the grim figure of the general. "Now that you two are properly acquainted, I expect a healthy working relationship and nothing less. Draven, go about your duties as expected. Healer, keep his head attached to his body. Understood?"

"Understood," The pair spoke in unison, the executioner's gaze lingering on his charge for the briefest of seconds.

There's that grin again, challenging Soraka's patience and goodwill alike. Even without turning to glance, she can hear it in his voice, dripping with assumed charisma and machismo. The kind that makes her heart _twist_ in a very, very foreign feeling; _revulsion_.

"I think we're going to get along _just fine_ , starchild."


	2. (ch1) uneasy ground

_. chapter one / uneasy ground_

( **AN:** _Thank you everyone for all the favorites and follows! I hope I can keep you guys interested. I'm kind of winging this with a loose outline of where I want the story to go and I'm super excited to see where it takes me. I really want to explore Soraka and Draven's interactions, so I hope you enjoy them!_ )

* * *

Soraka hated this.

She hated each step of contact her hooves made against the tile, the _clack clack_ of her steps echoing back like laughter. She hated how out of the corner of her eye, she could see him, sizing her up and trying to figure out _what the hell Swain had assigned him to._ But, most of all, Soraka hated the fact that she had to pretend that this was all perfectly fine.

"What _are_ you?"

The question was blunt, making Soraka seethe under the scrutinizing tone in Draven's self-assured voice. Her step never faltered, the sound of hoof against tile filling the relative silence as she pondered a response.

"I come from a far off planet where we're named for our most distinguishing feature. Can you guess my name?"

There went her tongue. Soraka didn't even think when she spoke, the sting of her words hitting the Noxian full-force. Draven managed a confused expression, pensive with eyebrows knit as he contemplated her ridiculous inquiry. Those steely eyes lingered on her horn, and a bawdy fit of laughter resounded from the man. "Real cute. I don't bite, sweetheart,"

There was that pause. Soraka scoffed and rolled her eyes. She could already assume the end of that one. "Unless you want me to."

There was more laughter. Soraka returned it in kind with a cold shoulder, the silence setting in just as quickly as it'd been abolished. Draven felt its frigidity, and he let his Cheshire grin loosen into a much more manageable smile.

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" Draven teased, earning the barest of glances from Soraka, who quickly directed her eyes back before her. "What would my name be on your planet, babe? Don't hold back, I know how glorious I am already."

Soraka's lids pulled back in the faintest hit of surprise, but she obscures it. She can feel his eyes roving her pallid face, hungrily eating up whatever information it can find on her countenance.

Her lips stir with the hints of words, but they come out in an unconfident croak. " _Cocky._ "

There's silence, tension, and then the telltale burbles of a laugh. Before she knows it, Draven is cackling once more, face red and shoulders shuddering with the effort to breathe. Soraka doesn't know if he's just easy to humor, or if she's really _that_ funny, but his attention is diverted from her and it's enough for her to be thankful.

"My, my! You have a _beaaau-ti-ful_ , assuming mind, sweetcheeks. The Dray isn't going to fight that." His voice drips smarm. You could nearly hear the wink and the nudge of his hips in his voice, and even as Soraka shrinks away she finds herself finding this stupid man's bravado _endearing_.

"If you don't want to tell me much, that's your funeral. But if my past groupies are any indication, I won't be seeing you around for much longer... can you blame people for not being able to handle perfection?"

 _Hm._ That's all that Soraka musters, a _hm_ and a downcast glance of her eyes. Draven catches onto it, and his eyes try to gather more from her. He doesn't need to ask, as she speaks without being spoken to, the sort of rule-breaking that Draven tolerated and valued in his charges. What fun was company when it didn't speak?

"I heard you got into a fight with a yordle prisoner when you were last being monitored... is that correct?"

Chuckling, there's a slight cant of his head in what Soraka assumes is a nod. She's still looking forwards.

"I sure did. Furballs go crazy when they're locked up, did you know that? Nearly lost my eye. Guess my warpaint would've looked more realistic, huh?" Draven grins crookedly, the sort of grin that made her think he _liked_ his work. " _Draven_ won, as always. Was there ever a doubt?"

"...No, but I have more than some doubts about your healer."

Soraka hears him scoff. "You know what we call that here in Noxus, sweetheart? _Collateral damage_. Comes with the territory, You better get used to it."

For the first time since she and Draven have started conversing, Soraka feels herself back down. There is no snarl, no malice in his voice, but she can feel just how certain, how factual those words are. In the end, she would just be collateral damage. This was the path she'd chosen, and perhaps getting too chummy with an executioner needed to be knocked down a few pegs on her to-do list.

"I'm surprised you took this job. I figured an Ionian like you wouldn't. You have something against them? Didn't sacrifice you enough virgins? Someone stepped on your shrine?"

Thankfully, Draven had the attention span and lack of courtesy to change the subject. But, it gives Soraka reason to pause, and she finds her head turning and her ears drooping because she has _absolutely no idea_ what this man must mean. He turns to meet her for a moment and there's a look of shock followed by a wry, all-knowing smile.

" _Uh oh_ , someone doesn't know."

"Please."

Another laugh. But this one sounds crueler than the last. She'd given him no reason to show her kindness, but Draven relents and he's speaking smoothly and fulfilling her request and _oh stars_ is Draven so, so stupid for trusting her.

"Ionia thought it'd get bigger britches after we moved in on them last time. They wisened up. Now, I don't know for sure, but intelligence thinks that they're having some deal with Piltover... We've confiscated what looks like hextech weaponry from them, real complicated stuff. No luck yet with figuring out anything yet, but it's enough to keep us on our toes."

Soraka was broadsided not only by the information, but the willingness in which it was shared. So confident was the executioner in his abilities that he'd openly trusted an Ionian ambassador with the sort of information that only fed political tension.

"But hey, a few healed civilians is worth more than your nation. Different strokes for different goats, I get it. Besides, you get to be in the presence of _me_. Chin up, that's _gotta_ be worth something!"

Shoulders slump, albeit subtly, the celestial wilting under the bulk of his words. Her legs move of their own accord, and she barely realizes when they come to a stop and she finds herself a few paces ahead of Draven.

He motions for her to join him inside his quarters and she accepts out of duty and nothing more.


End file.
